


lead the way

by cartoonheart



Category: The Hour
Genre: Dress Up, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-10
Updated: 2013-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-23 01:47:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/920552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cartoonheart/pseuds/cartoonheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Infernal thing," he mutters. "I'm hardly as graceful as Fred Astaire these days, am I?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	lead the way

**Author's Note:**

> Just a bit of cutesy fluff for my OTP.

" _Bel_ , I look ridiculous!" Freddie twists back to scowl at her, his voice rising to an aggravated hiss. Freddie could be extremely vain at the most unexpected moments, she's realised. More frequently of late for obvious reasons: a scar across one cheek, a pronounced limp. But Bel is in no mood for placation right now, even with Freddie digging his toes in like a stubborn mule at the threshold of Lime Grove's entrance. There are echoes of rumbled conversation within, the sound murmuring through slightly ajar windows, and the steady chime of toasting glasses. Someone has found a record player. Bel hears Lix laugh.

"You look fine," Bel reassures him, with a patience she doesn't totally feel. They are already late, and they've already had this same conversation ten times at home and then again on the taxi ride over. 

Freddie adjusts his black top hat and curls his hand tighter around the top of his walking stick. His weight rests heavily on his left side, his good side, as he turns to glance back at her. She smiles at him, trying for warm and encouraging. Her hand rests on the solid expanse of his back, trying to subtly propel him forward. The other brushes imaginary lint off the shoulder of his jacket.

"Walk in front of me, Moneypenny," he murmurs, shifting just enough in the doorway to give her room to pass through. Bel narrows her eyes.

"So I can admire your dress," he winks, a glint of her Freddie again, a twist of a smile. These recent months haven't been easy on him, but she understands, she really does. Sometimes it is almost like he's completely there, completely her Freddie again. Other times his mood is black and he's sullen and quiet and it sets her on edge. 

"Don't be cheeky," she says, settling her hand on his shoulder. "Besides, there is nothing to worry about. Hector's dressed as Henry VIII, for god's sake!"

"And he probably still looks less ridiculous than I do," Freddie moans, but it is half-hearted at best. Either way, it is enough for Bel to notice his belligerence drain away with a resigned sigh. He leans back, the edge of the door frame settling between his narrow shoulder blades. It knocks his hat forward, and Bel adjusts it again.

"Infernal thing," he mutters. "I'm hardly as graceful as Fred Astaire these days, am I?"

"You're being silly," Bel says, taking up a leaning position on the opposite side of the door frame, staring at him. She likes the way her dress floats around her ankles, she his complimentary Ginger Rogers. With her heels on she and Freddie are the same height. "You look very dapper. Besides, it's only a party. Everyone is just meant to dress up and have fun."

"You know how I feel about enforced fun," Freddie drawls, rummaging inside his beautifully cut tail coat for his cigarette case. Bel rolls her eyes at him, but accepts his offer of a cigarette nevertheless.

"You'll be fine after a drink or two," she says.

"Or three or four."

"Well, as long as you're more sober than Hector, I'd say you're fine".

Freddie grins at that and she returns it. They smoke in silence. Lix's laugh rings out in the distance once again.

"They seem to be having an awful lot of fun without us," Freddie says, breaking the silence with a huff of cigarette smoke. "I don't think they'd notice if we didn't show up". His mouth crinkles at the corners, eyebrows raised and appraising her. Bel knows she is blushing just enough under his suggestive gaze for him to notice.

"Considering that you are the guest of honour, they would notice eventually," Bel points out. She stubs her cigarette out on the concrete outside with the toe of her shoe. She can feel Freddie's eyes on her. Even after everything, they still play like teenagers at this game, with obtuse flirtation and loaded silences. Bel loves it and hates it too. It feels too much to bear at times, like a strange combination of the comforting familiarity of Freddie mixed with the nervous panic of uncontrollable and unpredictable lust that he's awakened in her.

"Five minutes, Moneypenny." It is a question, rather than a statement. It almost falls into a plea, but not quite. Freddie pushes himself off the door frame and a step closer to her. Freddie knows the power of persuasion better than anyone she has ever met, even though in the past, _before_ , he had only ever used it to argue a story, a point of view, the order of the news bulletin. Now that he's turned this talent to her, she feels like a girl again, almost helpless under the power of his wolfish grin and sharp eyes.

" _Frederick_ Lyon." Bel asserts determinedly, taking a crafty sideways step into the lobby, trying to shake off the growing tension between them, and draw him inside after her. "You can hardly be late for your own welcome back party".

"One can be fashionably late to such things, surely?" Freddie puts on, attempting a cavalier twirl of his walking stick, but only manages to lose his balance instead. He stumbles, shoulder bouncing heavily off the nearest wall, and Bel, instinctively, reaches out to secure him.

"Come on," she says quietly, before he has the chance to turn morose again. Tucking her arm in his, Bel moves them slowly forward towards the festivities. She doesn't want him to start dwelling on his temporary shortcomings. The doctors said the limp would get better, even though Bel could sense Freddie's self-consciousness every time he glanced in a mirror, or picked up his walking stick. It was part of the reason why she had chosen a costume for him that let him incorporate it naturally.

"Whose idea was dressing up anyway?" he asks as she leads him along the familiar green corridor. "Let me guess - Marnie's?" He laughs despite himself.

"Of course," Bel concedes indulgently, "who else?"

"I do like Marnie," Freddie murmurs, his hand brushing against Bel's as they walk. Their footsteps echo. "She's the only one who truly appreciates my vast array of facts about pythons."

"You're ridiculous," Bel teases, the noise from the studio getting louder in front of them. 

"And you're beautiful," Freddie replies disarmingly, in such an offhand way that she's sure he's just joined in from a different conversation entirely.

She stops and glances at him, glances at her arm curled around his. She sighs.

"You've really got to take that hat off, Freddie," Her response sounds as appropriately withering as she had hoped.

His hand flies to his top hat defensively, despite the fact that he had been moaning about it not five minutes earlier. "Why? What's wrong with it?"

She reaches up and pulls it off. Freddie's hair instantly makes a break for freedom, despite his earlier half-hearted attempts to tame it in the mirror in Bel's front room.

"Well, I can't kiss you properly when you're wearing it, can I?"

A grin breaks over his face. "Couldn't wait to get me down a darkened corridor, could you Moneypenny?"

She kisses him hard on the lips then, knowing that she is ruining her lipstick and further ruining his hair, but there is time enough to worry about that later. Freddie is part holding her for balance, part enjoying running his other hand up the curve of her back. Bel twists her fingers under his coat, trying to find the more flimsy material of his starched shirt, warmed by the heat of his skin.

They should really be at home. Not here, in the middle of a corridor with all of their work colleagues on the other side of the door. The voices and music get louder and Bel, suddenly self-conscious, reluctantly pulls away, resting her forehead against Freddie's shoulder.

"Inside then?" he murmurs, his voice a little rough around the edges and his hands grazing up her bare arms to rest on her shoulders.

Bel tucks her nose in the space between his ear and his shirt collar, and sighs before pulling back to look at Freddie. Her Freddie.

"I think we've got a spare five minutes if you want to truly be fashionably late" she says, leaning into him, his top hat dangling from her fingertips. There is an unused dressing room at the end of the corridor, she knows.

Freddie is a step ahead of her. 

"Lead the way".


End file.
